Dog Teeth
by growing pains
Summary: Immersing myself into the dangerously alluring Craig Tucker's world came with a price: throwing caution to the wind. Tempting fate was just the consequence.
1. Chapter 1

Welcome to my Creek story!

It's been a terribly long time since I've written South Park fanfiction (~2012), but I'm glad to be back. I'm probably a little rusty at writing in general, so try to be kind in your review (if you choose to leave me one) - I appreciate them more than you can imagine! :)

* * *

 **Dog Teeth**

Chapter One

 _"He handed me a pair of pliers and told me to pull out his teeth..."  
_

* * *

 _Just go over there and ask them to leave, you wuss_ , I told myself as I stole feverish glances at a nearby table from the safety of behind the coffee shop's counter. My eyes flicked between the last patrons of the evening and the clock rested upon the wall. Its ticks were taunting me, every _click_ a reminder that closing time was approaching within minutes, meanwhile there were still customers who didn't seem intent on departing.

Those customers happened to be Craig, Clyde, and Token. They were sharing laughs and a doughnut, each with their own cup of coffee resting in front of them. It wasn't a surprise to see them at the Tweak Bros coffee shop, and sometimes the fleeting thought that I should be over there with them occurred to me before vanishing again Those days were over, and seeing them together merely reminded me I didn't belong in their group.

I didn't _want_ to be a part of their group. They were rebels. Tough guys. Occasionally, lawbreakers (well, not Token.) Unlike them, I was none of those things and didn't have the sense of belonging in their crowd. Whenever I would get mixed up with them, it was as if my life would fall apart, and I'd be sent crawling back to my therapist for guidance and more medication.

Glancing back at the clock, I peeked at them again and blinked in surprise as I saw none other than Craig Tucker staring back at me. _Uh, okay_ , I thought to myself, swallowing hard and averting my gaze. _So what if he's staring? He probably just thinks you're a freak._ It was hard to be bothered by self-depreciating comments. They were frequent and helped me cope with stressful situations, at the risk of damaging my self-esteem further.

I couldn't tell if it was curiosity or some other force, but I realized I had to know if he was still watching me from that table in the corner. Although I was stationed behind the cash register and at least twenty feet away, it was like I could detect his pupils burning holes through my skin, and the thought turned my lips up in a smile of amusement - _yeah, Craig Tucker does not have laser vision_. Recalling the matter at hand, I looked in the general direction and sure enough, Craig's attention was locked onto me despite appearing to be talking to Clyde and Token. That made my heart leap into my throat, worried they were talking about me, or chatting about when we used to hang together. Honestly, I wished everyone in South Park, including Craig and his gang, would forget about it because we were young and dumb, and I didn't know any better.

In an attempt to get my mind off of Craig and his stupid, wandering eyes, I desperately peered around the area for something I could do: the tables were already cleaned, there were no other guests in the coffee shop, and it wasn't as if I could close the coffee shop with Craig and his gang in it. Plus, with Clyde present, the toppings inventory would probably be gone by morning, so that wasn't an option.

Deciding to grab the dish towel and wipe off the counter for what felt like the millionth time this evening, I couldn't help myself from reviewing the possibility of Craig chatting about me. Us. It was an anxiety-inducing thought, and I hoped he would just leave with his friends so I could wrap up my shift. _Doesn't he have any sense of decency or restaurant etiquette?_ That was when a disturbing possibility occurred to me: what if he was doing this intentionally?

Craig wasn't quite the nicest guy in South Park, but I never considered him to be a bully, either. He was somewhere in the middle, like most people. Not a saint, not a sinner, however I figured he'd tip toward sinner if there was a scale to measure such a thing. It was unlike him to go out of his way to terrorize people when half the time he didn't seem to give a damn about anything, but I was already on edge. _If he wants to talk to me, it can wait until spring break is over. Or at the very least, he could approach me instead of staring like creep._ I determined, accompanied a nod of approval and self-validation; I would stick to my guns and stay right here.

Except that was easier said than done when I could sense that he was watching me, almost predatorily. Maybe it was my overactive imagination. Whatever he wanted-unless it was coffee-I was not obligated to give him. Friendship, answers to homework, a ride home… I wasn't the person to go to. Right now, I was just Tweek the barista, and my sole responsibility was providing another caffeine-filled drink if that was what he desired. And then he could take himself and his sorry blue chullo hat and get off the premises.

Once they were gone, closing up would be a snap. All I would have to do is clean their table, make sure everything was in place for tomorrow morning, grab my end-of-the-night mini muffin, and then head out after locking the doors. It'd be a piece of cake.

Lost in my thoughts and continuing to wipe the grime from the counter, I didn't notice one of the figures had branched off from the booth, nor did I catch the movement in the corner of my eye as he glided across the coffee shop, strides confident and borderline arrogant, but with an alluring nonchalance that encapsulated the very personality of the individual. Suddenly, a shadow infiltrated my space and forced me to abandon my task. Searching for the source brought me face-to-chest with Craig, who'd somehow sneaked up on me and now was less than a foot away, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

I guess he noticed he startled me because a low rumble of a chuckle seemed to emerge from within him. It was a warm sound but gave no indication of amiability, and I was mildly insulted he'd find my strife amusing. "What's so funny, Chuckles?" I snapped, narrowed eyes latching to his. In that moment, I remembered the distress his subtle glances caused, and the annoyance of his elongated stay. My frustration spilled over, "You shouldn't be laughing, all things considered, when you forgot your tent." Upon seeing how puzzled he became, I explained, "After all, it seems you're going to camp here overnight." My speech was rarely marred by outbursts anymore, a habit that faded coincidentally shortly after I'd stopped hanging out with Craig and his friends. It returned whenever I was particularly upset or nervous, though, and I didn't think that'd go away.

In retrospect, I'd sounded insanely hostile toward him but for some reason, I couldn't stop myself or manage to extend an apology yet. It was like the years of feeling like Craig Tucker's personal plaything-even when that wasn't entirely accurate-were overflowing and encouraging me to lash out. Craig appeared mildly surprised by it, and an apology was on the tip of my tongue, knowing what I'd done was unacceptable for any situation. But especially this one, and my parents would be livid if word got back to them about the incident. We'd have to go over proper business interaction. Again. I didn't think I was cut out to take over the family business - socializing was a fate worse than death, and it wasn't as if I was great with financials. I excelled at brewing, mixing, and preparing the coffee.

By now, the surprise had faded from Craig's sharp features and in its wake was a timid amusement, a signature smirk that brought the corners of his mouth upward into something playfully sinister. As far as I knew, this particular stoic dude had two types of facial expressions: blank and smirking, and the latter was a rarity. "Damn, Tweek," he said after a moment, unfazed. "I just wanted another coffee before I leave, the usual. I was going to ask for an extra dose of sass with it, but I guess you're giving those out for free."

While Craig was an embodiment of most of the things I disliked about myself and in the world, he was still a calm guy at heart. Not much could penetrate his stony exterior and disturb him, including my angry, sass-filled outbursts. "I'll bring it over in a few minutes," I muttered, starting to make Craig's drink, "and that'll be two dollars and fifty cents. Leave it on the counter."

There were a couple benefits to living in a small town when you were an employee of a coffee shop. One: you started to get to know everyone's drink. They never needed to tell me what they wanted unless it was something unusual and strayed from their standard order. And two: being robbed or shortchanged wasn't a concern with the locals. Craig could've put the money in the cash register for all I cared, since I knew he wasn't going to steal anything from within it - I would know precisely who'd taken money from the shop if he dared try. The reason I hadn't asked him to do so was because I tended to like the money in a particular way. It had to be perfectly aligned with the dollar bill under it, and if I knew Craig, I didn't think he would bother with that. His code of cleanliness had always been "throw it wherever because it won't make a difference in a day or two." Whatever, that was just Craig's style and as much as I hated admitting it, the thought was making me kind of nostalgic for the days we were friends.

Just because I missed Craig's dry humor, sarcastic comments, and crooked smile when he was genuinely happy, didn't mean I wanted to invite him back into my life and make myself vulnerable to him. Things were better this way for Craig, and it was easier for me because my anxiety wasn't on overload constantly. It meant not having a firm shoulder to cry on when things were rough, and it did leave me rather lonely for him at times, but I shook those thoughts away with a stern reminder that none of it mattered anymore.

I was Tweek Tweak. I was independent, and I didn't require Craig Tucker in my life. Except I was starting to grow kind of lovesick for the friendship we used to have. I didn't need to be told that it was stupid and pathetic to be caught up in the past, I was well aware.

The beep of the coffee machine shook me from my trance, and I looked down to see Craig's order-coffee, black-was finished and ready to be delivered. Sucking in a deep breath of oxygen and what I prayed was an extra ounce of willpower and courage, I began the trek over to Craig's table. Clyde and Token were chatting, Clyde giggling every now and then, while Craig seemed to supervise his friends. With each inch closer to the destination, it felt like my brain was fogging up, and it was hard to remember the reasons why I'd decided to stop being friends with them in the first place. This scene made them appear so likeable: Token was already a stand up guy guy, always gentlemanly and sweet, and Clyde was a dork but everyone put up with him. He was great to have around for emotional support, and then there was Craig..

It was too much of a challenge to start to describe what he managed to add to everyone's life. Sure, he was popular and could probably get what he wanted out of classmates, parents, and teachers alike, but it wasn't that. Maybe it was the side he didn't show anyone except me when we were friends, demonstrating he was like a big teddy bear on the inside. Comforting and sort of a goof.

Lost in my thoughts again, my waist collided with the table, and I let out a sharp noise of pain as my body jolted forward, coffee splashing onto the surface - a result of my bad daydreaming habit and clumsiness. Reality catching up with me, I pulled away quickly, sputtering rapid and shaky apologies. "I'm so sorry! Jesus! Did you get- did it get on you? GAH!" I could feel my eye twitching uncontrollably as I tried to survey the damage.

"Jesus Christ, dude!" Clyde exclaimed, jumping back from the table as if it was about to bite him. "My jacket!" He was looking down in horror at the splattered-with-coffee fabric, brown dots sticking out against the red cloth.

"I'm such an idiot. Oh God! Jesus!" My mind was running in circles, rushing a million miles per hour as I wondered what Craig would do, what any of them would do. What was _I_ supposed to do? _Oh Jesus. I shouldn't just stand here when I should be getting Craig a new coffee! Wait, no - a washcloth first to clean up, then a new coffee._ "I- I'll .. I'm sorry!" I turned around on my heels to grab something to clean the table with, barely hearing Clyde as he continued to complain about the coffee on his jacket, but didn't move when a hand touched my shoulder. It seemed to awaken some part of me that I'd put away forever ago.

"Tweekers," it was gentle, unmistakably Craig's soothing, monotone voice, "relax." I couldn't be bothered to focus on what he was saying when I was still caught up on the initial piece: Tweekers. I hadn't been called that in years, probably… not since we were about twelve or thirteen. _How does Craig remember this stuff?_ It was a pet name he relied on whenever he wanted to help me calm down, and I'll be damned if it didn't work just as well as it did five years ago.

My body released a shudder, an internal tremble that started from my very core and worked its way out, taking some of the anxiety with it. "Take it easy," Craig murmured, hand momentarily squeezing the soft flesh of my shoulder. "One thing at a time, and don't worry about replacing my coffee."

"What about my jacket?" Clyde demanded, hands on his hips.

Craig rolled his eyes, "Yeah, don't worry about that, either." Although Clyde was clearly displeased, he didn't press the issue and instead sat back down with a huff.

I managed to draw in a deep breath and exhale slowly, coherency gradually making a return. It was like old times. His comfort, his tone of voice, I even knew how he was looking at me with a surprisingly soft gaze. It was so familiar and made me feel fuzzy like it had all of those years ago, and I hated myself for falling into it again, relaxed by his voice and the words that tumbled from him.

If I'd learned anything from this interaction, it was that Craig was on my wavelength, understanding what I needed from him to become calm once more, and it was as if he was playing on a weak spot that urged me to let him back into my life. _You do remember_ , I felt like saying, since the way he was comforting me was no coincidence. The accusation was on the tip of my tongue, a venomous snarl that would express my resentment toward him for being so goddamn charming when I just wanted to be left alone.

In a show of pathetic defiance, I shuffled away to search for a washcloth, allowing Craig's hand to drop off of my shoulder as I did so. Grabbing the cloth and returning, I pretended to be fascinated in how the coffee was absorbed into nothingness, leaving no trace of my clumsiness. An exhale escaping me, I mumbled in a strained tone, "I'm just really sorry." If I hadn't spilled the coffee, none of this would've happened; I wouldn't be questioning a relationship that was history. It'd been dead for a long time, and if only I could get some space to think everything over and clear my head-

"Nice to know you're as spazzy as always, Tweek," Clyde muttered grumpily, undoubtedly still upset about his shirt. "If Craig didn't have such a boner for you, you'd owe me a new shirt." That earned him an elbow to the ribs by Token, and Craig seemed unfazed, his stare blank and unreadable.

I didn't know how to interpret that when I was already juggling a million other thoughts. The idea of Craig harboring any affection for me was ridiculous, even I knew that. I brushed it off as Clyde merely being melodramatic about the situation.

The usually-quiet Token looked sheepish, as if apologizing for Clyde's behavior. "I'll.. get him out of here." With a friendly wave, Token started toward the door of the coffee shop with Clyde, whose arms were folded to enhance his pouting expression, in tow.

"It's getting to be his bedtime anyway," Craig offered, and I could hear Clyde making a frustrated noise of protest in response even though he was walking away, "and that's why he's being so moody."

Clyde raised his hand to give Craig the middle finger with a whine of "fuck you!" Without bothering to look, Craig flipped him off back, his attention remaining on me. "See what I mean? Clyde can be kind of a little bitch sometimes, but we keep him around. Mostly for the entertainment purposes."

I cracked a shy smile at that-painfully aware we were the only ones in the building once I heard the jingling of the door signify Token and Clyde's exit-but was reminded of when I first began hanging around with Craig and his friends, and I'd asked why they kept Clyde around. I had received the same explanation.

I opened my mouth to say something in return but felt speechless. I didn't know how to talk to him anymore, not with our history and the mess of thoughts about the past clouding my judgment. Socialization was an uphill battle without being faced with additional challenges like an old companion with an extensive, rocky history. I didn't even know where to begin or if there was anything _to_ say. Luckily, Craig beat me to it as he asked, "Are you going to be here long?"

Shaking my head, I listed off what I had to do using my fingers, "Just need to -ERGH- check to ensure everything is ready for tomorrow, wash and put a-away this-" I grabbed the washcloth, nervously twirling it around my finger in lieu of my treasured fidget spinners, "and then lock up." I finished naming my unfinished tasks just in time to notice the cloth had gotten too close to the edge of my finger. It slipped off, whizzing toward Craig, and I made a startled, choked noise, unable to manage anything else.

As if showing off his quick reflexes, Craig snatched it from the air before it had the chance to hit him, whistling. "You're having a rough time with objects tonight."

"Shut up," I snapped, a smile threatening to crack through my feigned look of annoyance. _Like old times._

The smirk returned to Craig's face, "And if I didn't know better, I'd say you're trying to kill me off. First the hot coffee, and now a deadly washcloth. But I," he started, dramatically - well, as dramatically as Craig Tucker could get, "I could not be brought down by such weapons. If only I could say the same for my faithful albeit dim-witted sidekick, Clyde."

Where had this version of Craig been for the last five years? I couldn't help but wonder if I had simply been blind to any attempts he'd made to rekindle our friendship. I knew he was a goof and a good dude at heart (probably), and he was unfortunately just downright irresistible. My eyes narrowed, examining him closely for anything sinister that hid behind his amused eyes and the lines of his smile, but it was always too hard to tell with him.

Craig went on, resuming his monotonous tone, "Since you're so set on murdering me, I guess I'll have to prove you should keep me around." I raised an eyebrow, unsure of where he was going with this but waited for him to elaborate. "Hang out with me tomorrow."

" _What_?" I asked, nearly screeching. I was loud enough to produce an echo and cringed at my own volume, but we hadn't ran in the same social circles since we were preteens - why would we resume now? "You can't be serious - NGH!" It was as if I'd spat the words at him, and they came out more bitter-sounding than I'd intended.

"I am," Craig reassured, shrugging, "but you don't have to. Think about it a bit and text me if you want to." He glanced at the door, then back at me, handing over the washcloth. "I should get going. As you kindly informed me, I can't exactly camp here considering I forgot my tent." In the midst of my panicked thoughts and uncertainty of what I was going to tell him later, his joke was enough to elicit a tiny giggle. "But I could always pitch one for you." It was accompanied by a teasing wink, and his perverted comment immediately ended my giggling once I realized what he was implying. Not amused, I whapped him in the arm with the washcloth. Laughing it off, Craig said, "I'll see you around, Tweek."

"Yeah," I echoed, the grin fading as he walked to the door, "see you, Craig." The jingle of the door opening filled the silence as Craig left, abandoning me with a clean coffee house but mess of inner turmoil.

With my head spinning and my stomach churning, I couldn't be bothered to eat my end-of-the-night mini muffin.

* * *

Finishing up in the coffee shop and the walk to my house went by like a blur, and I was a ghost, not really feeling or thinking as I lied on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Unsure of how long I'd been lost in thought, I didn't know how to begin tackling the issue of tomorrow and was equally tempted to ignore him as I was to take him up on it.

Ignoring Craig would work in the short term, but if he was as serious as he said about hanging out, I was certain he'd make it happen one way or another. That was just how Craig Tucker functioned: when he wanted something, he didn't give it up easily. It was a scary notion that me, or my companionship, was what he currently sought after, and aimed to win at whatever cost.

That kind of ruled out ignoring him altogether, and canceling wouldn't work when he could ask for a different day or time. Besides, it'd be awkward to confront him after admitting I didn't want to be his friend. Since I worked at the only coffee place in town and we still were in school together, a collision would happen sooner or later.

My eye twitched, nervousness apparent. It was difficult to determine how I genuinely felt when there were too many aspects of the problem to consider, and the mix of emotions was overwhelming, drowning me.

But an inner voice kept returning to how nice it'd been when we were talking earlier, and how he was still able to effectively comfort me after years of relative separation. Of course, we'd seen each other in classes and the hallways and around town, but we didn't chat or spend time together. I had my friends, and he had his - he was popular, tall, handsome, and enigmatic, and I was just Tweek. I was alright with that, and I was convinced I didn't want to be a pawn in his world.

However, I also didn't want to be rude or ungrateful, especially when he'd been so kind, and a piece of me was nagging, telling me I didn't want to give up this opportunity when it could be the only one I got. What if it would be different now? Craig never was a _bad_ friend, particularly. He just had some quirks, like everyone else, and spending a day together wouldn't automatically involve me with him again.

I guess I owed it to him, and there wasn't much to lose. As I picked up my phone to text Craig, I internally marveled at my naivete, degrading myself for getting sucked into this bullshit again.

 **Tweek:** Hi, we're on for tomorrow

 **Tweek:** If you still want to, i mean

 **Tweek:** If you don't, that's okay too

I probably sounded like such a moron, even over text. Why couldn't I do anything right? Well, on the bright side, maybe my incompetence with social interaction would be enough to deter him from wanting to do anything with me tomorrow. Before I could add to that train of thought, my phone buzzed and lit up in my lap. A new message awaited.

 **Craig:** yeah i still want to, i'll text you details tomorrow

Although I stifled a sigh, I couldn't suppress the feeling of butterflies in my stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

Back again with another update and just to say thanks for the reviews and favorites! You guys are great. xoxo

* * *

 **Dog Teeth**

Chapter Two

 _"...because as long as he had them, he would use them to do bad things."_

* * *

Fretting about what today would bring, I stood in front of my opened closet, blankly scanning the row of clothing as I tried to determine what would be appropriate. Casual clothes? Something more formal? Maybe it'd help if Craig would spare a second of his precious time to inform me of what we were doing at least, but all I'd gotten out of him was a guinea pig meme when I texted to ask what was in store for us. When I expressed discontentment, his response was a threat to send more.

I shifted my attention back to the clothing dilemma. I couldn't believe I was stressing out about what to wear because it wasn't like this was a date or anything.

Oh Jesus. What if it was? My fingers twitched as I fought the temptation to text Craig again just to make sure this was a normal outing. Between friends. Wait, no- fuck. Not even friends. Old acquaintances was more appropriate.

This is how it happened, how he was going to suck me into his life and make it so I could never leave again. Craig probably knew what he was doing. It started with the small things, like calling him a _friend_ when he was some tall, brooding, and potentially dangerous former companion that I happened to run into.

That made my fingers twitch more sporadically, drumming against the soft cloth of my pajama bottoms, and I began to pace the expanse of my bedroom as I tried to sort out my Craig-plagued thoughts. I wondered if it was too late to cancel and hope he'd forget about the whole thing, because I didn't care if he talked to Token and Clyde and called me a pussy or fag or whatever. I just didn't think I wanted to go, and I'd had enough of this nervousness, waiting for fucking Craig to tell me what we were doing-

 _BZZ BZZ_

I jumped at the sound of my own phone's vibration, alerting me to a new message. My heart leapt into my throat, and I paused to marvel at the possibility of a God hearing my plea for help and sending an angel to kick Craig Tucker in the ass to make him realize he couldn't play his little games with an anxiety-ridden teenager.

Snatching my phone from my bed, the screen illuminated to show the text wasn't from Craig, but it was from Kenny.

 **Kenny:** heey tweek my man what r you up to

" _You couldn't have chosen a worse time_!" I panickedly yelled at some invisible Kenny that I hoped would be able to telepathically hear me. Nearly forgetting he couldn't actually hear me, I continued, "For the last _hour_ I've done nothing but look into my closet like it's the entrance to Narnia and wait for a half-man, half-deer thing to come out and kidnap me _just so I don't have to hang out with Craig today_! NGH!" At the end, I was basically screaming but quieted down as I realized my mother might check in on me.

Getting myself under control, I took a few deep breaths and looked back at my phone. Kenny deserved a response even if I was a mess, because he was a good friend - unlike Craig and Clyde and Token. And Stan and Kyle and Cartman, too. He was on the perverted side and always had been, but I knew he wasn't serious about it when he'd playfully flirt with everyone. He rarely directed his comments at me anymore, aware they made me apprehensive and uncomfortable.

Out of all the people in South Park, Kenny was probably among my favorites. He and Butters were genuinely likeable and didn't have ulterior motives to be concerned about when we were together.

 **Tweek:** Trying to find something to wear

I was going to leave it at that but a selfish part of me wanted Kenny to know of my struggle and why I was so on edge. Better yet, maybe he could offer some advice since he still chilled with Craig every now and then. I didn't think Token or Clyde minded him, but they didn't consider him the ideal "crowd" to mix with, meanwhile Craig didn't seem to care. Kenny was difficult to get rid of, plus Craig wasn't too picky about his friends as long as they didn't drag him into adventures involving world crises and celebrities every day. Having been in that position myself, I couldn't say I blamed him.

 **Tweek:** Craig said he wanted to hang out today

 **Tweek:** But i don't know what we're doing or where we going

What if Craig didn't have anything in mind and was using this as a lure to get me to come to his house, which was in reality not a house but a sex slave dungeon where he kept other stupid, unwitting souls that were enraptured by his predatory gaze and couldn't manage to say no when he asked them to hang out? Oh Jesus, that was definitely where I was going to end up by tonight.

By the time my overly-nervous thought path had come to an end, there was an unread message from Kenny waiting.

 **Kenny:** dude what, why are you friends with craig again

The word "friends" caused me to freeze, albeit my eyes twitched wildly. I felt like I couldn't breathe, like my chest was getting smaller and constricting every ounce of oxygen that threatened to revive me from my panicked state. My fists clenched, I forced myself to begin taking as deep of breaths as I could manage, pathetic wheezing noises escaping as I did so, internally repeating: _I'm not friends with Craig._

Calming down, I picked up my phone - almost throwing it to the floor of my bedroom in the process - and tried to type a message with my trembling fingers.

 **Tweek:** We aare NOT friends

 **Tweek:** He just asked me to hang out with him forr a while and that's it

Kenny must have been waiting by his phone, as the response was close to instant.

 **Kenny:** that sounds like you're fucking going on a date

My thoughts from earlier came rushing back with a renewed sense of urgency, as I had written them off as nothing but my anxiety before. Now they were a realistic possibility with Kenny suggesting the same thing. Afraid I would begin panicking worse than before, I fumbled to open my nightstand drawer and pop open the bottle of pills. Small, white, chalky capsules fell into my palm. Because I was in such a rush, I didn't think about getting a drink of water prior to launching them into my mouth and swallowing.

I had been planning to take an extra dose or two of my medication anyway in an attempt to avoid having an attack in front of Craig or otherwise embarrassing myself. My psychiatrist wouldn't be pleased with the overdose, especially when I'd been good about not doing it for years, but this is the effect Craig had on me.

It wouldn't take effect right away, but in about thirty minutes I would begin to feel more relaxed about the whole situation. Stomach in knots, I retrieved my phone and drafted a quick message.

 **Tweek:** Please don't say that

 **Kenny:** sorry dude, just is weird to me yknow? i thought you were done with him

 **Tweek:** Me too but then he asked if i wanted to hang out with him and i didn't know how to say no

 **Tweek:** It's only for today

I knew it must have sounded like I was addicted to the drug named Craig. Just one time, I had told Kenny, knowing full well that I probably wouldn't be able to object if Craig wanted to meet up again. Obviously I hadn't been capable of rejecting him this time, so next wouldn't be any different.

 **Kenny:** kay, whatever, have fun tweek 3 say hi to craig for me

That was the good thing about Kenny. Even if he tentatively disapproved of something, he was never an ass about it and wouldn't hold on to the little things. If hanging out with Craig totally sucked, he would be a listening ear to my endless ranting and a shoulder to cry on. He was a friend until the end, and I couldn't figure out why he stuck with Stan and those guys, considering Stan and Kyle were best friends - connected at the hip, pretty much - which left Kenny with Cartman.

 **Tweek:** I will, thanks Kenny 3

The "I will" was a response to saying hi to Craig, not necessarily having fun since I didn't want to make an empty promise when I had a sinking feeling it would be.

With my phone in hand, I scrolled through my list of contacts until I found Butters - like Kenny, he was a wonderful friend and I had no doubts he would be here for me in my time of need.

 **Tweek:** Butters please tell me you're around

After I'd sent it, I wondered if I sounded too desperate, as if it was something extremely important. What if Butters thought I was about to tell him I was dying? Although it was tempting to reply with a followup to make sure there was no confusion about the severity of the matter, I stopped myself when I determined this _was_ right up there with dying. Hanging out with Craig was probably the equivalent of a horrible death.

After pacing around my room for several minutes as I prayed to whatever Gods were out there for a response from Butters, I gave up and figured he was busy with his own life. There was a good chance he'd gotten dragged into another scheme by Stan and his group, and I wished he'd be more careful since he could seriously get hurt. It didn't seem to matter with Kenny, who somehow died all the time and continued to live regardless of what happened, yet I didn't think Butters possessed the same cockroach-like physique.

Sifting through my closet, I still hoped I could disappear into Narnia and not have to deal with this. But until the centaur guy abducted me, I was stuck in this situation and had to identify what to wear.

* * *

A glance at my phone told me it was approaching two in the afternoon, meaning I'd been stressing over what was going to happen with Craig for the last three hours or so. I'd settled on wearing my usual attire instead of anything fancy or super casual: just jeans and a button shirt, and when it was time to leave, I'd throw on my scarf for good measure. Despite being spring break and mid-April, it was too cold outside to leave it at home with the wind whipping and snow on the ground.

About to set my phone down and resume browsing the Internet for ways to get out of a commitment, it vibrated with a new message.

 **Butters:**! oh geez what's wrong Tweek? Is everything okay?

I felt like I should be asking him the same, since it'd taken an hour or two to get a response, but I didn't. I was preoccupied with being glad he was around.

 **Tweek:** Not really i guess, i'm going to hang out with craig later

 **Tweek:** He asked me to and i couldn't say no

I remembered Kenny's inquiry and wanted to save us both the time; Butters would want to know why I was stuck in this mess, so I'd tell him before he had to waste energy on asking. I had a suspicion it was as mystifying to me as it was to him, too.

In about a minute, Butters had replied.

 **Butters:** be careful :( /3 i'm here for you

 **Tweek:** Thanks, i might need it

 **Butters:** of course, you're one of my best friends and don't let craig bring you down!

Emotional support seemed to be Butters' forte. He was one of the sweetest people I knew, and I could count on him to actually be there when he said he would.

 **Butters:** and don't overdo the medication in case you were thinking about it….

My churning stomach seemed to freeze, creating slabs of ice that sliced through me. Butters had been around - my support system - when I struggled with overdosing everyday. I couldn't bring myself to tell him that I'd already taken more than what I should have - he was surprisingly fierce when he wanted to be. Unwilling to lie to him, I inwardly grappled about how I should respond, preferably not outright saying I had overdosed but also not being dishonest about it either.

Luckily, I didn't have to think very long because a text from Craig interrupted my internal debate.

 **Craig:** meet me the diner asap

Fuck, this was a date, wasn't it? It better not be, but going out to eat at South Park's only diner was a date-like thing to do.

I glanced to my closet longingly: where was the Narnia guy when you needed him?

* * *

On the walk to the diner, I reminded myself that it was a one-time excursion, a glimpse into why I didn't want to be in Craig's life again. And for Craig, it'd probably serve the same purpose because I hadn't changed. I was as unstable and panicky as always, and it was as if we were from different worlds since he was calm and collected. Not only that, but I was largely ignored at school, and Craig was popular in the sense that everyone admired him. They didn't fawn over him (at least not to his face) or approach him likely because they were terrified of being eaten in a single gulp, but they distantly observed his actions with awe as if he was a god walking among us lowly students.

As I grew closer to my destination and the inevitable meeting with Craig, my eyes and fingers were twitching more sporadically than when I was at home and having a minor meltdown. Despite the twitching and little noises of distress, I was strangely at peace with myself and my surroundings, similar to the quiet before the storm.

I was in a trance, feeling detached from my body and mind, but I couldn't ignore the rising lump in my throat when I saw the familiar sign of the diner ominously looming in the distance. From here, the large glass windows permitted me to see that the lunch crowd seemed to have disappeared and left only a couple people remaining inside. I tore my eyes away, trying hard to avoid staring because I knew I would eventually lock eyes with Craig - then I couldn't run in the other direction if it came to that. I would be trapped more than I already was.

Heart racing, I shakily grabbed the door handle and stepped inside, met with the scent of fast food and grease, which added to my nauseousness. I bet Craig could smell beyond the French fry-stink and not-quite-real-meat burger slop to sense that a nervous, blonde coffee-addict had stepped into his threshold, and I waited for him to pounce on me, pinning his prey and dragging me into some dark corner never to be seen again.

Building enough courage to raise my eyes from the tiled floor and actually look around, it didn't take me long to find Craig behind the counter, helping none other than Stan and Kyle with their orders. Unsure of what else to do, I forced my legs forward, taking my place in line behind them, within earshot.

"...and put fries on the side of that." Stan turned to his best friend. "Do you want the same?"

Kyle shook his head, eyes glued to the menu. "Nah, too much fat content."

"Dude, you're like, thin as hell. You could use the fat."

He shrugged, "I'm not ending up like lardass, and I care about my health."

"Can we hurry this up." It didn't even sound like a question. It was a statement, and Craig didn't seem amused. "If you don't know what you're going to order, don't bring your gayness up here. It's clogging my soul with rainbows, and Tweek is the only one allowed to do that."

I let out a noise of surprise as I realized Craig must've seen me - how could he not have? I did linger in the doorway for quite a while… Or maybe my laser vision theory hadn't been so far off. Stan and Kyle both peered behind them and gave their own casual greetings, but I was too busy being focused on how everyone's gaze had settled on me. "Look, man- don't bring me into this!"

Stan brushed it off, "Craig's just a jackass." _I know._ I was more than aware and felt he hardly had the right to say so when he didn't spend his childhood being friends with Craig. Redirecting his attention to Kyle, he prompted, "What did you want to eat?"

"I'll have a salad."

Craig appeared bored out of his mind but relieved because it was over, as if he'd been listening to these two go back and forth for hours. "Eight dollars and fifty cents."

"I'll get it," Kyle offered simply, fishing in his pocket before producing a bill and giving it to Craig.

He handed back their change, saying, "When your number is called, that means your order is ready. Leave your gay at the table when you come to get it for the safety of our other guests, thanks."

"Like you should be talking," Stan scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Let's go find a place to sit, Kyle." They exited the line and probably went to a table, but I didn't make it a priority to watch them when it was my turn to confront Craig.

"Hey Tweek." Although it sounded as monotonous as when he'd been talking to Stan and Kyle, it seemed friendlier. The cold edge had disappeared from his tone, and it was kind of unnerving.

Inadvertently ignoring the greeting, I replied, "I can't believe you talk to customers like that." I knew if I did, my dad would be furious and go through a million analogies of why I should be polite.

He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement sparking behind his stony eyes. "How could I have been so reckless. I forgot the last time you took my order, you were all smiles and sunshine." My cheeks flushed upon realizing he was right.

"That was different," I protested, recalling how Craig and his friends had been hanging out at that table for well over an hour. It'd been closing time, and they still hadn't left; I had the right to be a little grumpy with them. Maybe.

Craig waved a hand dismissively, moving on from the conversation, "Don't worry, I can find it in my heart to forgive you. But let's not stick around, my shift is over." He must have seen how puzzled I became and went on to elaborate, "I figured we could meet here and go back to my place to chill for a while."

My sex slave dungeon idea was looking pretty good right about now, much to my horror. "O-oh?" I squeaked, eyes wide as saucers.

"If that's okay?" Craig mumbled. "I don't really want to be stuck here for another few hours since I'm done working. Assholes like Stan and Kyle frequent this place, and I don't get paid enough to deal with their bullshit."

So much for meeting and staying on neutral territory with witnesses surrounding us. I didn't want to go to his house, who knew what he'd do with me from there if we were alone? I tugged at my shirt, eyes darting as I weighed how likely it was that I'd come back alive this evening. "Um.." I started, mouth dry and voice on the verge of cracking, "alright. We can -NGH!- do that." I cursed myself for being too big of a pansy to say no again, as that was what got me trapped in this mess to begin with.

Despite feeling guilty over the interaction with Butters, I determined I was glad I'd taken too many pills in preparation for this encounter. If I hadn't, I was pretty sure I would be on the ground in a fetal position and crying until spring break was over.

Craig was staring at me, skeptically. "Are you okay?" _No, of course I'm not okay!_ I wanted to yell in frustration. Instead, I had to keep my fear bottled inside, barely suppressing radiator-like noises of terror. Upon receiving no response, he added, "I'll be right back."

I didn't have time to truly recollect myself because after he'd disappeared into what I assumed was the kitchen, Craig returned within a moment or two with a drink in hand. "Here," he offered, "you can have this. It might help you calm down, Tweekers." The use of my nickname was soothing, and I peered at him with gratefulness. Taking it with shaky hands, I examined the beverage and identified it as some sort of ice-cream drink, interest piqued. "It's coffee flavor, a new thing we're trying," Craig explained, catching my uncertainty.

I took a tentative sip, almost missing the straw with my trembling hands. It was cold and sweet, significantly more syrupy than a cup of coffee would've been. "It's good," I reported to Craig. There was a small, scared smile playing on my lips, and I was still worried about going to his house. But the combination of coffee-flavored ice cream drink and Craig's soothing voice had me relaxed enough to skip the complete breakdown.

Craig seemed satisfied with that answer, as if he had come up with the idea himself. "Are you ready to go, then?"

"Yeah," I replied, inhaling deeply and letting the air escape again. I drank another sip, reveling in the comfort of a familiar flavor and person in my life, even if the latter continued to frighten me. "I'm ready."


	3. Chapter 3

Another big thanks for the support!

* * *

 **Dog Teeth**

Chapter Three

 _"You're cold on the inside."_

The drive to Craig's house was like the walk to the diner, but worse. While I didn't have to do physical exercise or even endure the freezing temperatures of South Park, it was far more daunting than I could have imagined - being at Craig's house meant I was basically at the mercy of whatever he wanted to do. I took a nervous sip out of the ice cream drink, the slurp noise reminding me I had almost finished it. Unfortunately for me, I didn't think to bring any coffee and there wasn't a chance in hell that I was going to ask Craig to make some for me. I would rather die a lack-of-caffeine-induced death.

Once I saw his house in the distance, I was visibly fretting. I had remembered every single reason why I didn't wish to be here, yet we were steadily approaching with no sign of turning back around and driving me home. I glanced to Craig, wondering if he would buy it if I said I was suddenly sick. Probably not, I decided, aware I wasn't a great actor.

The thought of acting to get out of a sticky situation with Craig reawakened a fuzzy memory of pretending to break up with him when we were still in elementary school, and everyone had been obsessed with our relationship. Spoiler alert: I hadn't gotten any better at acting and was pretty sure I would botch it if I tried.

Apparently, I had been staring at Craig too long, because he commented without glancing away from the road, "Flattering, but I'm not that attractive."

"W-what? No!"

"Do I have something on my face, then?"

"No," I replied. "I was just.." I trailed off, at a loss and uncertain of how to express my conflicting feelings.

"So you don't think I'm attractive. I see how it is." As twisted and evil as the game he was playing happened to be, I understood he was joking-something that very few people knew Craig Tucker engaged in-but was met with the same sense of panic that came with any sort of social fuckup.

Sputtering in surprise, I didn't know what to say to dig myself out in a way that wouldn't admit I kind of did think he was attractive, but that had nothing to do with this conversation. Maybe I did notice the sharpness of his jawbone or the shape of his face and how his hair lightly swept across his forehead. He almost looked like the musical artists of the oldies that he admired so greatly. "I- um," a blush, and although I had been about to say more, I cut off abruptly when I noticed Craig's smirk. "Why are you such a dick, man? Jesus Christ." He sure knew how to metaphorically splash a bucket of cold water over me and break me from daydreaming about him.

"You bring out the best in me," Craig said without hesitation, the insult rolling off of him. "Get out, we're here." Sure enough, we were parked outside of Craig's house, and it was exactly like I remembered it. Despite my extreme opposition to being here, I was curious if the inside was still the same, if Craig had those Red Racer and outer space posters littering his bedroom walls or if he'd replaced them with something different. Having Red Racer and space things in his bedroom made him seem more innocent than he was, as if he was still the Craig Tucker I'd known in elementary school. Even then, he'd been a troublemaker, but in retrospect didn't seem as dangerous in those days.

The thought was distracting enough to calm me, at least until I'd gotten through the front door. The sound of it shutting behind us was a rude awakening and brought me to reality: we were in Craig's house, and though I couldn't see where the entrance to the sex dungeon was, I bet it was around here somewhere.

But strangely, it appeared to be a normal home with portraits on the wall and standard furniture. There was a lemony scent in the air, indicating someone had cleaned recently, and everything was tidy. It was quiet and peaceful in contrast to what stress my anxiety was causing me, and I was under the impression we were the only ones here. Nobody to hear my screams.

I was startled by a questioning, "Tweek?"

"Hm?" My attention snapped to Craig, green eyes giving clues of my distress. Feeling horribly choked up and stifled, I was ready to leave because it'd been okay hanging out with Craig for the past thirty minutes, but I'd had my fill.

"What's wrong." I assumed he was expecting a response, however it didn't sound like he was asking considering his monotonous tone. It was probably Craig-speak for: _I know something is wrong and you're going to tell me what it is. The alternative is showing you the place where I keep the other fools who dare step into my home before I have a chance to pretend my intentions are genuine._

A noise of fright escaped me. "N-nothing," I lied, since I wasn't sure where to begin. It wasn't as if I could outright say I wanted to go home. Craig's expression stayed unreadable, but I didn't need to see disbelief to know he determined I was being dishonest. My mind returned to the Bad Actor Theory. If it hadn't been convincing to my ears, it definitely wasn't to Craig's. "Alright," I sighed, caving, "I'm just a little on edge."

"No shit, Sherlock. I didn't bring you here to eat you." Craig rolled his eyes, smiling slightly as I made another startled sound since I knew exactly what he was referring to. "Those rumors aren't true." The gossip floating around the school was ridiculous at best and likely something Cartman made up because he was bored. To my knowledge, nobody had really believed Craig's gang feasted on students for breakfast, but it didn't seem that far off for someone who knew Craig when his cold eyes implied he was a demon waiting to suck out my soul, then spread it on his morning toast. It seemed more playful as he tacked on a simple, "Though you do look delicious."

I critically stared at Craig, pushing down the flutter of excitement in the pit of my stomach. "When did you get so flirty?" The first time, I hadn't bothered to call him out on it, thinking he was joking, but it was getting to be a recurring theme with us. It was mildly uncomfortable with our history, but I refused to believe he was being serious about it since there was no way in hell he wanted to get with me, otherwise known as Tweek the twitchy weirdo.

"Maybe I have a thing for blondes," he shrugged, tone casual.

"I don't think Kenny would agree," I challenged. Butters came to mind as an example as well, but Kenny was the one who'd flirt and sleep with nearly anyone if they interested him. "He also told me to say hi to you, by the way."

"I think he would," Craig's mouth twisted into a sinister grin, "and okay. Flip him off for me."

My eyebrows raised in surprise. "What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded, hands moving to my hips. "And I'm not doing that!"

Instead of responding, Craig pointed out, "Not too nervous anymore, are you?" He knew my weak spot, clearly - but he was right. I wasn't twitching or stuttering, pulling out my hair or making a run to the door. Wrapped up with the conversation with Craig, I had forgotten where I was entirely for the past couple minutes. In a way, Craig appeared subtly proud of himself for getting me to relax, and I hated him for it. I hated how I was slipping into old patterns with him, enjoying our banter and his company.

All I gave was an irritated huff, averting my gaze. I refused to confirm his statement, but the proof was in front of us.

"Don't turn into Clyde on me," Craig warned, the same gleam of amusement threatening to break through his voice. "I already have to deal with his moodiness." I opened my mouth to protest, but he beat me to it, "I'll get some coffee started. You can get comfortable on the couch or something, if you want." Leaving me in the doorway, Craig disappeared into the kitchen after shedding his work apron and slipping out of his shoes.

The hesitance had lost its edge this time because I didn't feel a sense of overwhelming dread looming over me anymore, and I took off my boots to head into the living room. For the most part, it was precisely how I expected it to be, how I remembered it. _Plain._ I claimed a spot on the edge of the couch, sitting stiffly as I waited for Craig to return. If I had still wished to escape, now would be the opportunity to do so: the exit was right there, and he was distracted, but I didn't move. It was going… semi-alright, to my surprise, but I kept telling myself that could change at any second.

Scanning the room, there were very few things that had changed. The furniture was the same as I recalled, and the photographs were of Craig, his parents, his sister, and a couple of Craig with his friends. The only difference was there were merely more pictures of them now, visual documentation of Craig and his family growing older plastered upon the wall. It was an average living room: a television, places to sit, pictures, a coffee table, and a couple end tables - one with wilting flowers in a vase. I frowned at that as Craig walked into the room, taking a seat in a chair. "Your flowers are dying," I said, motioning to the vase. It came out as if I was personally offended by this, and I hadn't meant to be that hostile.

Craig was unaffected by the harshness of my voice and seemed even less interested in the flower situation.

Frustrated at the lack of response, I waved my hands wildly-comically-as if that'd help get my point across. "Don't just let them wither away, man! You have to take care of them, water them and make sure they're getting enough sunlight and other nutrients.." I stopped when I realized I was rambling about flowers that Craig probably didn't care about at all, and worse yet, looked ridiculous doing it.

"Do you want me to get you some flowers," Craig inquired idly, but as always, it hardly sounded like a question.

"What?" I was incredulous. "No! That's not what I meant!" I didn't know how he'd gotten that out of my little rant on proper flower care, but I wasn't going to bother with finding out when I really, _really_ did not want him to purchase flowers for me. "Just.. take care of your own flowers!"

A shrug, "Okay. You seemed to know more about them than I do. Maybe you should be a florist someday."

It was appealing, but I shook my head, already aware of what I'd be doing with my future. "My family owns a coffee shop, remember? That's my career." It was a family business and my dad was surprisingly strict about keeping it that way.

There was a moment where I was certain Craig was going to remind me that I didn't have to do whatever my parents told me to, but it didn't come. All he gave me was a signature Craig Tucker "okay."

When it became clear that I would have to continue the conversation, I scrambled to come up with something to alleviate the silence. "What.. are you going to do? You know, after we graduate?" I asked, having only memories of when Craig wanted to grow up to be a racing spaceman. That'd probably changed, but I didn't know what kind of job path he would want to pursue. It was coming up fast since we only had about a month until we were free of South Park High School. I tried to avoid thinking about it, but I was disappointed I wouldn't be leaving this town after the summer because like the majority of its population, I was trapped here.

"Become Clyde's professional babysitter, most likely."

Displeased with this answer, I prompted, "Come on, Craig."

He seemed lost in thought for a moment. "I don't know. Move out before anything else, I guess. I'll see if I can get better hours at the diner, and go to college, life- and money-permitting. From there, I'll learn how to be an engineer or something." I was happy for him since he had an idea of what he wanted, but equally distressed when he was going to be leaving South Park like the rest of the people I had befriended over the years. Kenny was the sole individual who planned on going nowhere. And that wasn't because he didn't want to.

"Wow, uh," an awkward cough, "good luck with that, dude."

Craig chuckled, but it was so quiet that I wouldn't have heard it if the room hadn't been completely silent. "Look, I can stay if you want me to." That was the peculiar thing about Craig. At times, he _knew_ what I was thinking about, sometimes before I did. It was a talent he had with everyone, unspecific to me.

I drew in a sharp breath, eyebrows furrowing. "Why would I want that? You're probably the worst customer I've ever had at the coffeehouse." I was joking, but it'd be a lie to say last night wasn't stressful.

"Ouch, Tweek," he drawled, "hitting me where it hurts. I'll have to work on my manners. Speaking of, I'll grab your coffee."

"Put in a lot of milk and sugar!" I called after him, but Craig was already halfway to the kitchen.

He returned about a minute later, cup in hand. "Here," he set it down, "and it's the way you like it. A little sugar with a lot of milk." Craig listed it off like he knew my preference by heart.

"How do you know that?" I was stunned and concerned, wondering if he'd been watching me or gathering information prior to our time together.

Craig seemed confused, "We spent our childhood dating, Tweek. I think I know how you like your coffee."

"Oh," I felt kind of silly for forgetting about that momentarily, "right." Blowing on my coffee to cool it, I had given up on processing our romantic relationship years ago, unsure of what it meant to Craig, if anything. To me, I might've had a small crush on Craig and enjoyed spending time with him, but I wouldn't have considered dating him if not for the town pressuring us to be romantically involved.

It didn't seem like a real romantic relationship when we did nothing more than hold hands, hang out, and occasionally go places, but I'd liked it regardless. Not to imply I wanted that again - I didn't.

"I wish things had turned out differently."

But maybe Craig did.

"Huh?" I tilted my head, too distracted by that to worry about drinking my coffee. I didn't let him respond, afraid of what he might say, "Craig, we weren't even really… a couple. We were friends."

"I know," Craig acknowledged, then grimaced. "I kind of fucked it up, whatever it was." It wasn't regretful or mournful, merely throwing out a fact.

 _Yes, you did._ "No," I mumbled, unwilling to continue down this path when it'd get us nowhere, "you didn't, so don't worry about it." We weren't going to be friends again, so I didn't see the point in mulling over the past, however it was still shocking to hear what I assumed was an apology or as close to an apology as I was going to get from him. "I don't want to talk about that." I had reverted to not wanting to be here in the first place.

"You mean you don't want to move past this and be super gay best friends again?" Craig was being sarcastic, but I felt a hint of truthfulness lingering in the proposal.

"I.." I didn't want to, but I was stumped. How was I supposed to tell him that I wasn't interested? His stare was cutting into me and as far as I knew he didn't intentionally intimidate with it, but it caused my heart to leap into my throat. A small, anxious laugh managed to work its way past my pursed lips, "This is already pretty gay." Hanging out together after years of no contact and talking in Craig's living room.

To my relief, Craig didn't press the issue and instead agreed, "It is. Stan and Kyle would be jealous."

"They're probably too busy making out," I offered, a relaxed smile bringing my lips upwards.

He nodded, then paused. "It almost sounds like you want to make out with me." If I hadn't been aware he was joking, I would have been out the door and a mile away by now, running as fast as I could.

"Ew, no," I huffed and stuck out my tongue at him, as if to demonstrate how absolutely, horrendously disgusting that would be.

Craig raised an eyebrow quizzically, "Your words say no but you're literally sticking your tongue out at me." It elicited a louder chuckle from him when I immediately pulled in my tongue. "I'm deeply offended."

"Be as offended as you want," I snapped, "because you're not getting your tongue into my mouth. Hell, you probably have a million diseases or something."

Craig didn't say anything for a moment, merely appearing to calculate his next move. "You know me," he played along, visibly entertained by my disdain, "they don't call me riddled-with-diseases Tucker for nothing."

Naivete getting me, I inquired, "Does anyone actually call you that?"

"Probably you, after today."

"Just wait until I tell everyone else that you and your diseased mouth tried to kiss me," I threatened, semi-joking. I wouldn't do it, of course, but the thought was highly intriguing. I wasn't sure what they'd find more interesting: the fact Craig wanted to kiss me, or that he had diseases.

Craig's expression was thoughtful. "They'll probably ask why you didn't take me up on the opportunity. I gave you a once in a lifetime chance to kiss hot stuff like me, and-" he stopped, dramatically, "I get shot down."

Why he had to be so damn charming, I didn't think I would ever know. What I did know was getting suckered into a friendship was getting harder to resist. "Well, I have a no-douchebag policy on my kisses, so I guess you'll have to satisfy your gay urges some other way," I teased.

Craig made a face, his features scrunching up as if he'd been struck or was tasting something incredibly bitter. "I'll have to settle for a threesome with Stan and Kyle. How could you sentence me to such a terrible fate - and you have the audacity to call me a douchebag." It was made all the funnier by how his voice classically remained monotone despite the admitted horribleness of sexual encounters with Stan and Kyle, and I couldn't stop myself from giggling.

"I'll have to tell Kenny he was right about you." I corrected myself, "About this."

A wave of alertness washed over Craig, and my heart skipped a beat as I wondered if I had said something wrong. "What?" he questioned, sending my pulse skyrocketing.

"Uh- it's just," I laughed nervously, "he said.. This sounded like a date, when I told him about us getting together."

Craig relaxed again, a lazy smile touching his lips. "Seriously, Tweekers? Chill out, because this isn't a date. If it was, I'd be absolutely _wooing_ you with my skills, and we wouldn't be sitting around my house." A pause, and a wink. "I save that for after the date."

I liked the confirmation that it wasn't a date, honestly, and felt better about being here. Craig's statement eased a fear I didn't realize I was still holding on to. "Gross, dude. I don't want to hear about what you do on dates."

Craig slyly said, "Right, right. Maybe you'd rather find out for yourself, first hand." Before I had a chance to shoot that down as well, he brushed it away with his hand, "I'm kidding. You're cute when you're blushing, though."

I was laughing but was at least going to pretend to be offended, and I buried my face in my hands. "This is exactly why you're a douchebag!"

"You're the one that's making me have a threesome with Stan and Kyle. I think I deserve to be a douchebag."

Uncovering my face and still smiling, I felt compelled to ask, "So what's the worst date you've had?"

"Alright, so Clyde has this crush on Bebe."

"Really?" I snickered, remembering when Bebe had been the object of _everyone's_ affections. "It's been like ten years."

Craig shrugged, "Yeah, you can even tell him I told you. I don't give a fuck. Anyway, he had this brilliant plan of making himself irresistible to her, and that included pretending to be gay to 'get all the ladies' or some shit, I don't know. Something about bitches loving gay dudes, but whatever. So when we saw Bebe with her friends at the diner, he insisted on pretending we were on a date since I was finishing up my shift, and was all like, 'dude you gotta do this, dude she's the love of my life' and I did it."

I was having a difficult time holding back my laughter, picturing an annoyed and bored Craig on a fake date with an overly excited and confident Clyde. "Wow," I commented, "you're a good friend for doing that for him."

"Had nothing to do with friendship, he offered to buy the meal," Craig explained. "I'm not going to turn down free food, especially since that fatty always makes me pay." Although he'd been about to continue talking, a glance at the clock stopped him, and he sighed. "My dad's coming home from work in a while. Unless you want to be questioned, you might want to go."

Alarm swept through me. "Is he not over the whole gay thing yet?" I recalled when we were kids and were "dating", how Thomas Tucker hadn't approved of the relationship. He eventually came around, but he never seemed fully comfortable with his son being in a relationship with another male - unlike my parents, who had been ready to broadcast it to the entire world. Sometimes, my dad even asked if Craig and I were going to hang out again.

"Not really, but he hasn't talked about it for a long time. I think seeing you here would be weird for him."

Thomas was… intimidating, to say the least. More so than Craig, and I appreciated the chance to escape before I had to confront him and nervously explain his son and I hadn't been doing anything above a G-rating. Well, unless cursing counted, then I would rate it at PG-13, but he might get the wrong impression…. In an effort to avoid that mess, I said, "I'll get going." It was a disappointment and a relief, overall bittersweet. As much as I disliked the thought of becoming close with Craig again, he was fun to hang around and had a sense of humor. He made me feel comfortable with my environment and with myself, and it was something nobody else could accomplish through their words or actions. But our history made me hesitate, wondering if this was the best course of action.

"Okay, I'll drive you."

I blinked. "O-oh, no. You don't have to do that." I didn't want him to. "I can walk."

While he didn't look pleased with that answer, Craig didn't say anything more about it and settled on, "See you around, Tweek."

* * *

The second I'd collapsed onto my bed, I erupted into sobs.

Craig hadn't been mean to me. He hadn't made cruel jokes or said anything wrong, but that was precisely the problem. I didn't want this to become a regular occurrence: hanging with Craig, resuming my status as his friend. I'd made it a point to end that chapter of my life when I found out he wasn't nearly the guy I thought he was.

He hadn't been there for me when I needed him most, so this.. feeble attempt at making things right was going to fall flat. I didn't care about forgiveness, about fixing any wrongdoings. It was just over, and I hoped Craig was understanding of that.

I didn't like Craig, I told myself for comfort, but knew it was more accurately that I didn't _want_ to like Craig again. Shaky breaths causing my frame to tremble, I could feel the pillow growing damp with tears, and curled in on myself tighter as if that'd shield me from the rest of the world.


End file.
